


Addicted

by bar_wench



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abduction, Abuse, Alcohol, Anal Sex, Angst, Anxiety, Caretaker Dean, Cigarettes, Come on Sammy this is basically rape, Comforting, Crying, Cute, Depression, Fluff, Hurt, Loss of Virginity, Loving Sex, Lust, M/M, Mental Illness, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Oral Sex, Pain, Panic Attack, Relapse, Road Head, Rough Sex, Running Away, Self Harm, Slutty waitress, Smoking, Trucker, Virgin Sam, Virginity, Worried Dean, attempted suicide, creep, diner, self degradation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-11 04:39:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5614222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bar_wench/pseuds/bar_wench
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean, ignorant as always, doesn't see Sam and his emotional struggles. With Dean always away and leaving his little brother alone, Sammy finds a way to self-medicate his depression and anxiety. He soon decides that hurting himself is not enough, and needs to add another party. But has he gone too far? Can Dean rescue him from his demons, before the swirling smoke swallows him whole?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Broken Minds

His green eyes sparkled and shone, the ever changing light from the crappy motel TV casting shadows around the dingy little room. I traced his freckles in my mind, counting them as I went; they were like stars, just as beautiful and I’d never be able to count them all. A small smile twitched at the corner of his delicate, dusky lips, his fingers thrumming rhythmically against the bottle clutched desperately in his large, calloused, yet gentle hands.  
“I'm going out,” he said monotonously, standing abruptly. He looked down at me, his features softening. “You'll be okay little brother? I'll leave the TV on for you Sammy.”  
“Don't call me Sammy,” I muttered under my breath, never able to admit how much I loved it when he called by my nickname. “Yeah, I'll be fine. See you later De,” but as the final words touched the air, he was already out the door. “Yeah. I'll be fine…” I trailed off sadly, my eyes slipping shut and head falling back, knees pulled up around my chest. I was such a freak. I was fucked in the head. A tear peeked out from the corner of my eye, before running quickly down my face, followed by several more. “ _I’m so fucked up!_ ” I screamed out, jumping to my feet and punching the wall. “ _Ahhhhhhhh!_ ” My fist recoiled, then I started going at it with as much force as I could muster up in my current state. After a while, I fell back onto the mouldy looking sofa, revelling in the pain from my bloodied knuckles, the way it cleared the heartbroken cloudiness of my mind.  
What if I did that again? But what if… What if I did it differently? I'd stolen cigarettes from Dad and Dean and Uncle Bobby before, and with my stupid, clumsy,  _oaf_ fingers, I'd dropped them plenty of times too. It hurt. Bad.  
Or, I mean, maybe, I guess, some of the girls at school, on theirs arms, I saw these scars, long, overlapping, messy, criss crossing lines decorating their skin. They looked like really abstract patterns. Imagine if I could have felt this pain again, but better, more concentrated, more controlled. Dean would have never known. Nobody would. It could have just been my dirty little secret. Something that was mine, that wasn't second hand or borrowed or broken. I was the broken one. I deserved the pain; but did I deserve the pleasure I derived from it?  
Whatever. I threw it away to the back of my mind, another sad thought for another sad day. I had both razor blades and a lighter in my bedside drawer, among other ‘necessities’ according to my nutcase father. If I acted upon my troubled thoughts, then that was my own problem, not something I could ever ask Dean for help with.  
I knew that Dean didn't like me. When I was little, he would play with me because he was little too, but then, all of a sudden, he wasn't so little anymore. He had the face of a child, but his eyes had seen such horrors. He was old beyond his years. And he didn't want me anymore.  
He went out as soon as possible, off to a bar, off to the next slut, off to the next hunt, off to the next slut, then the next, then a whore, then a slag, then another slut. Always some desperate, emotionally damaged piece of shit. So why didn't he want me? I fitted that criteria. I guess I just wasn't not good enough, not even for someone with standards as low as Dean’s. He hated me, and with good reason. I hated myself too.

 


	2. Mind Over Matter

“Please De,” I whispered, afraid to speak any louder for the fear of my voice cracking and displaying my sheer terror at the thought of losing him not only for a few days, but forever. This was a wendigo! Most hunters that had been in the business for decades still daren't go near a wendigo case. But Dad wasn't like most hunters. He had to kill everything. And he had to drag Dean along, and Dean loved it, but I knew, I just knew that one day, Dean would become a part of that everything. That one day, Dean wouldn't come back.   
“Fuck off Sam,” he said, without even turning to face me. I doubt he meant to sound aggressive, but my mind filtered it, altered it, poisoned it, and sent it back to me sounding like it was full of acid, menace, and hate.  
I coughed, clearing my voice of emotion before speaking. “Please, Dean. Don't go, you'll get hurt, or worse, or something will happen here, or I don't know what, but Dean. Please stay. I'm scared, Dean. Please!” I scolded myself for allowing so much feeling to drip off of that last word.  
“You're fifteen, Sam, get a grip. You're whining; you know who whines? Babies.” He glared over his shoulder at me before turning and counting his bullets for the millionth time.   
“Dad said that, didn't he Dean?” My tone was laced with pain, and it was quite apparent.  
“No, I said it, idiot, do you not understand conversation? I say something, so do you, we repeat the process, yarda yarda yarda, aren't you supposed to be the smart one?” His voice was full of sarcasm and a cruel, condescending element.  
“That's not what I meant, and you know it. You're such jerk,” I muttered under my breath, words not intended for his ears.  
“You're such a bitch. And with that, off I fuck. See ya Sammy!” He grinned, closing the door behind him.  
I smiled at his odd choice of fare well phrases. “I hope so,” I whispered, tears brimming in my eyes. I felt my chest begin to tighten as a fog set over me, panic setting in. My vision tunnelled and before long, I was shaking uncontrollably, being racked with sobs, and I was trapped, the room was closing in around me, I was stuck, I couldn't escape, I didn't stand a chance, I'd never see my brother again, the love of my life, my light, he was gone, he wouldn't come back, I loved him so much, I was a freak for loving him, God I hated myself, I was worthless, I was pathet-  
The second my fingers closed around the filthy, stained little blade, my breathing calmed. My thoughts straightened themselves out ever so slightly, and they stopped tumbling out so quickly and all at the same time. A shaking hand undid my belt and slid my jeans down to a quarter of the way down my thighs. Actually, I might need to go a bit further. Further still. Eventually, I found a spot where the skin was somewhat unmarred. Don't get me wrong, I had nothing against cutting and burning in the same place, but after a while, you begin to lose the feeling in that particular spot. Yep; over the course of less than two years, I'd been fucked up enough to cover myself with that many self inflicted injuries, that I was almost a third of the way down my legs. And this isn't just a few cuts; in the majority of places, you can't see more than a few square millimetres of normal skin. I'd considered moving on to my wrists, because sometimes, just looking at the pain can help considerably, especially when I didn't have access to anything sharp or hot. Punching myself and other objects just wasn’t enough anymore. But if I did that, Dean might notice, and he'd be angry, and he'd tell Dad, and Dad would go nuts, because there was already enough things trying to hurt me without adding myself to the list, and I wasn't mentally stable, and I was stupid and an idiot and pathetic and weak and I wasn't a Winchest-  
The first drop of blood surfaced and trickled down the side of my leg. My shaking hands dropped the rusted, blood stained blade, lighting a cigarette and bringing it to my lips. My hands were shaking so violently, I couldn't hold it in my mouth long enough to inhale, so I had to just clamp it between my chapped lips and sit on my hands. I drew in a long breath, smoke clouding my lungs and momentarily clear mind, suffocating any remaining thoughts of pain and loss. I finally pulled up a shaking hand and took the fag away; I hissed as I held it against my thigh for 10 - 9 – 8 – 7 – 6 – 5 – 4 – 3 – 2 – 1 ---  
My head fell back in ecstasy as the pain seared threw me, my eyes screwing shut. Wow. I hadn't burnt in a few days, and I'd forgot how good it felt. It didn't just clear my mind, I forgot everything. All the pain, all the fear, all the love, everything. I could finally breathe. I took a long swig of Jack Daniels, then a few more, then a few more, then the previously half full bottle was empty, the glass smashed into the dirty carpet, the booze settling in my stomach. A haze began to drift into the room, and I was gone.

 


	3. Sleeping With The Enemy

Stalking in with a scowl on my face, I slammed the door and yelled, “Dean, what the fuck? It's chucking it down out there, and you let me walk six miles in it?! You said you'd pick me up today! Dean?” Shaking the water out of my hair with my fingers, I noticed the crumpled paper covered in scrawling letters thrown hastily onto the table.  
‘ ** _Sammy,_**  
 ** _Bobby called Dad saying that there was a nasty vamp nest in Jackson that had already killed two hunters, with another two still on the job. We've gone to see if we can help, we shouldn't be more than a week, I've left fifty bucks on your bed, if anything happens, call me. ~~I'~~_** ** _ ~~~~_** ** _ ~~m still you're brother you little bitch. I'll always look out for you, you little bitch.~~ Just call me._**  
 ** _De’_**  
I reread the note again and again. Smiling sadly at the small sign of affection that he felt the need to cross out. I realised I was crying when a fat tear hit the page, smudging the ink from the cheap motel biro. I was so pathetic; constantly crying and having panic attacks and I could't deal with anything in a suitable manner and I was stupid and weak and a coward and I wasn't a soldier like Dean and I just wasn’t a Winchest-  
I drew in a deep puff of smoke, letting it cloud over the painful thoughts. A few more drags and I was almost down to the filter, my head swimming and my lungs thick and heavy. Lifting up my t-shirt, I stubbed it out against my side, holding it for a good ten seconds and hissing in a sharp breath. It aligned almost perfectly with the row of five next to it, and above it, and above that, and so on; in total, there were five rows on this side. I was going for ten. A nice, clean number. I took a long drink from the whiskey bottle under my bed, before grabbing the key and my phone, slipping them into my pocket, and walking out, closing the door noiselessly behind me. My mind had cleared, and I knew what I was going to do.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Leaning against the wall, I spread my legs slightly, ripped jeans hanging loosely off of my hips and my small, too tight (or in this situation, just tight enough) t-shirt stretching over my visible ribs, providing no barrier against the cold and making me shiver. The combination of all this made me look vulnerable, easy prey for the truckers well into their forties and fifties. One fellow, very tall and muscular, looked about 47, but in good shape, and been eyeing me up for about 5 minutes, just sipping his coffee, before he approached me.  
“Hey pretty boy. What's a cute little thing like you doing out here all alone at night? How old are you, gorgeous?” He grinned down at me, one arm braced against the wall next to me while he looked down, a predator deciding the best tactic to lure in his next meal. But I didn't need to be lured anywhere.   
“I'm fifteen,” I murmured, trying to look as small and scared as possible. “My boyfriend dumped me, my parents kicked me out, I have nowhere; I'm scared…” I heaved in a breath, pretending to choke up a little.  
“Well, I've got room up in my cab for two, if you want to sit down for a little while? Warm up? I might even have something I can give you,” he winked at me, and I wrapped an arm a winding arm around his neck, purring his ear.  
“Thank you, sir,” I whispered coyly in his ear.  
He pulled me away from him at that, a sly smile spreading across his face, and he took my hand, leading me towards his truck.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Straddling his lap, he held me there with two strong hands at my waist, while my hands sat gently on his shoulders as his tongue invaded my mouth; he poked and pried at every corner, inspecting each tooth, then pulling his tongue out, biting at my bottom lip a bit, then repeating his process. I could feel his throbbing member against me, against his wanton little whore. Reaching down, I unbuckled my jeans and his own, and with one hand he lifted me slightly so that with the other, he could pull my jeans down slightly. He threw me off of him and onto the little bed behind him, pushing off his trousers to reveal an eight inch cock, then ripping his shirt over his head, which had been covering a set of rock hard abdominal muscles. He took two long strides towards me and ripped off my own clothing, throwing it to the chairs behind him. He pushed me onto my back, pinning my waist against the bed with his hips, holding my shoulders down, kissing me passionately. I reached up, tangling my fingers in his hair, moaning against his mouth. Suddenly, he flipped me onto my stomach, grabbing me and hauling me onto all fours. He smacked my ass, grabbing my cheeks and pulling them apart roughly, spitting on my hole. He lined his dick up, and then-  
“Oh, baby, my baby boy, oh, so tight, so tight for me,” he grunted, leaning down, putting a hand on the back of my neck and pushing me down, so that I was almost laying on the bed, with just my ass sticking in the air while he pounded me viciously. “So tight baby, so tight. Tight like a virgin, you a virgin baby boy?” He grunted in my ear, sweat glistening on his forehead and pouring off of his chest.  
“Yes,” the only word I could force out in a strained voice threw gritted teeth.  
“Ha, well not anymore! What's wrong baby, you don't sound happy,” he laughed, thrusting in harder than ever, hands leaving my throat to grip my hips hard enough to bruise; he slapped my ass, hard, several times, and combining that with the rough fucking I was receiving, I made noises that I didn't believe to be humanly possible.  
“Hurts, sir” I made a point of emphasising the last word, knowing how much he loved it, loved the feeling of ownership and dominance.  
“Little bitch, you think this is me going hard? I'll show you hard, baby,” he muttered, pulling out to just the tip, then thrusting back in, jackhammering his way into me, destroying my ass for ever.   
“Ahhh! Mmm, call me bitch, be mean, be really fucking mean,” I moaned, biting down on the pillow and clutching it tightly.  
“You like that, do you? You like being called a whore? And a bitch? And a fuck toy?” With each taunting name, he’d pull out then emphasise the insult with an extra hard thrust inwards, gripping my hips and leaning right over me, humping me like a dog humps it's bitch.   
His thrusts became more desperate and shallow, his breathing laboured, and I knew he was close.  
“Want me to come inside you, whore? Want daddy to fill you up with his cum, cover your insides with his jizz? Eh, slut? That what you want?” He grunted, warm breath on the back if my neck.  
“Yes, sir,” I uttered, precum oozing out of my cock. He reached around and grasped my dick, jerking it roughly. I came seconds before he did, shooting long ropes over over his sheets. I was mid-orgasm when I felt him shoot his load in my ass, and just as I was coming down from my climax, all I could do was sob out a strangled cry of “Dean…” before I collapsed under his weight and blacked out from exhaustion.

 


	4. Fearful Hearts

Squinting against the sun, my heavy eyes opened painfully. I went to sit up, but winced and whimpered when a sharp jolt of agony shot up from my ass. Looking around at my surroundings, I remembered where I was, and terror was all I felt when I realised that the lorry was moving.  
“Where are we going?” I whispered hoarsely, my voice broken from screaming last night, both in pain and in ecstasy.  
“Morning baby boy. Seeing as you had no place to go, I thought I'd take you with me. My little toy,”he turned and grinned maliciously, and I knew that he was in no way looking to help me.   
“Take me back,” I croaked desperately, forcing myself up and limping over to the seat next to him. He looked me up and down, a creepy smile stretching his lips. I looked down at myself and saw that I was covered in bruises, fingertip shaped ones at my hips. There was a mixture of dried blood and cum crusted on my inner thighs, and the pain became even more apparent when I took in the damage he'd done. He reached over and stroked the scars on my stomach, his fingers venturing up to bump along my particularly pronounced ribs. I didn’t make a move to get away from him, too afraid of what he might have been planning. I closed my eyes and tried to steady my breathing, fear paralysing me momentarily. My eyes squeezed tightly when a felt a hand on the back of my head, pushing me forcefully onto his cock. Having been trying to imagine myself away from the situation, I hadn't noticed him pulling it out before it was too late.  
“Come on baby boy, you can do it,” he soothed patronisingly when he felt me gagging around his rigid member, when it was only half way down my throat. “Take it baby, take daddy’s dick down your little whore throat.” I was gagging and spluttering, slightly hysterical in my movements, my body rejecting his desperately, hopeless in my attempts to escape. Before long, he was driving into my mouth at an uneven rate, and hot, sticky strings were being shot down my throat, causing me to choke and gag even more.   
He yanked my head back up and pushed me back up onto the seat as he turned into a gas station.  
“Where are my clothes?” I uttered huskily.  
“You won't need them for a long time, baby boy,” he said bluntly, not bothering to look over at me. I opened my mouth to reply, but he'd already jumped out of the truck and locked the doors. He knocked on the window, held up ten fingers, then pointed at his watch, supposedly indicating ten minutes before he'd return. He then gestured obscenely to show me his plans for when he got back, turned around, and strutted proudly into the little shop.  
I didn't have long, and knew I'd have to hurry. I looked around hastily, but all I found was a pair of his dirty boxers, an oversized hoody of his (which stank of sweat, old smoke, and cheap booze) and my jeans, which were filthy and fairly bloodied, god knows how they ended up like that. Checking the glove compartment, I found twenty dollars and a couple bucks worth of change. I pulled on the boxers, then my jeans, stuffing the money into my pocket. Ripping the case off of his pillow, I punched the window as hard as I could, creating a pretty substantial crack; punching it again, it shattered, and I laid the pillow case down so as not to rip my already tatty jeans any further, not wanting to expose myself in my god knows how long journey back. Taking one final look at the cab, I noticed my phone laying under his seat, and wondered how I'd managed to miss it. Grabbing it, I jumped out of window, ignoring the cuts and scrapes on my hand. I took off running, not stopping until I was about 2 miles away from where we'd stopped. I leant against a tree, puffing, knowing my sudden burst of energy could have only come from adrenaline, as I hadn't eaten in almost twenty four hours, or gotten much sleep, thanks to last nights…um…activities. I checked my phone, and my drooping eyes sprung open in shock when I noticed twenty seven texts, sixteen missed calls, and six voicemails from Dean. Listening to the voicemails, they got more and more urgent and desperate, the last saying he was on his way back because he was so worried about me. I dialled his number, a small, sad smile playing on my lips and tears blurring my vision because I realised that there was a chance that he actually cared for me. I was sick for finding any joy in our situation, but still…   
The phone rang once, twice, three times, then was abruptly cut off. I stared down at the blank screen, willing the battery to miraculously come back to life. I looked up and around, my heart jumping into my throat when I saw a phone box. Jogging to it, I slid any number of coins into the slot, not caring how many minutes I had paid for. I just needed to talk to Dean. It was ringing. And ringing. And ringing, and ringing, and ringing.   
“This is Dean Winchester’s phone, please leave your name, number, and nightmare at the tone.”  
“NO!” I slammed the dirty, chipped old phone back into the hook, only slightly annoyed at the strangely sticky substance left on my hand afterwards. He didn't pick up. Why didn't he pick up. Maybe he didn't know it was me. Maybe he really didn't care, and was just coming to find me so as not to get in trouble with dad; but dad wouldn't care anyway, I'm a useless soldier, and I can't hunt anything, not even a deer, let alone a werewolf or demon. I was alone again.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

I walked along sullenly, hands in my my pockets, occasionally kicking up some dirt or a pebble. There was a hole in the pocket on one side of my jeans, and as I plodded on up the highway, I'd pick at the marred, scarred skin below. It was oddly calming, the slow, steady, repetitive pace of marching down the road.   
After about an hour, I reached a bus station; it was old, crumbling, foul, and it reeked of piss. But looking at the timetables, my luck seemed to have been restored, for in fifteen minutes, there was a bus going directly to the town where the motel was, and it would only take another half hour to get there. I bought myself a bottle water, a small cereal bar, a packet of chips, and went to take a leak. It wasn't too long before I was boarding a rickety little vehicle, and settling down to rest for a short while.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

“Kid. Kid, get up,” a gruff voice spoke in a tone that sounded as though it was trying (and failing, but trying none the less) to be gentle. “Kid, you gotta get off the bus.”  
I blinked the weariness away, sitting bolt upright, my senses alert once again.  
“What? Oh, yeah, sorry,” I mumbled, fumbling with the few belongings I had in my possession, stuffing them into my pockets in a rather hectic manner. Stumbling, I got up, steadied myself, and got off the bus. I waved my thanks to the driver, pulling the hood up to shelter myself against the pouring rain. It was cold, it was wet, it was just generally miserable weather. I carried on walking down the pavement, still limping quite badly from my pounding the night before. I ached all over, and every step sent pain shooting along my hips and down my legs. The back of my neck was sore, along with my back, arms, legs, fingers, toes, elbows. I was just sore. It wasn't the good kind of pain, the kind of pain that I could control. It was laced with fear, shock, horror, a wave of emotions that I was used to feeling, just not like this.  
“SAMMY! SAMMY, WHERE ARE YOU?! SAMMY!” A voice was piercing the veil of sound created by the sheets of water falling from the heavens. I looked behind me, only to see an all too familiar black car racing towards, then past me, with an all too familiar face leaning out the window, wearing an all too familiar jacket that I wanted to wrap myself in, curl up in a tiny ball, and sleep forever. I started waving my arms frantically, chasing after the Impala and laughing ridiculously. She screeched to a screaming halt, zooming backwards until she stopped right next to me. Dean jumped out, wrapping his arms around me and holding me tightly in a very typically Dean bear hug that I hadn't felt for years. I didn't hug him back, I just stood there, enveloped by his warmth, his smell, his everything, him.   
Enveloped by Dean.

 


	5. Painful Realisations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a very short piece from Dean's perspective.

Bundling my little brother out of the car, I scooped him into my arms, shocked at how light he was. My hand brushed over his chest, and even though the material was thick, it was loose enough for me to be able to feel his prominent rib cage. His head tipped back, and the icy water plummeting down to earth splattered on his highly visible cheekbones. The clouds rumbled and lightening lit up the sky, dark even at this relatively early hour of the afternoon. I adjusted my arm so that his head was pushed forward to lean against my chest, allowing me to support my baby brother properly. I ran to the motel room, and having not bothered to lock it before going to find Sammy, I pushed the handle down and got inside quickly. I placed his unconscious form delicately on the double bed he'd left untouched while I was away, and crept over to single bed that also didn't appear to have been slept in. I bent down and was pulling my boots off, shrugging off my jacket, when I looked up briefly; Sammy seemed distressed, yet he was still under. He was moving around, frowning, even crying in his sleep. I got up, tiptoeing over to him cautiously. I sat down on the bed just as he turned over, facing away from me. He curled up in a ball, shaking, murmuring somewhat unintelligible words, but I'd practically raised the kid, I was used to trying to make out sobs and hiccups and translating them into words.  
“Dean, Dean, I'm so sorry. I'm fucked in the head Dean, I can't help it, I'm not right.” It was heartbreaking hearing him say those things about himself, but nothing could prepare me for for I was about to hear: “I just… I love _too much_ , Dean. I love you in the wrong way. I still love you like a brother, but for years, I've loved you in a different way, in a _stronger_ way. I love you in a non-platonic way, Dean, and I'm a freak. I'm so, so sorry.”  
I didn't realise that tears had slipped down my cheeks until I went to brush something away and felt warm, wet tracks streaking my face. I didn't know how to comfort my sleeping companion, so I just curled myself around him from the back, like an ever clinging vine, never planning on releasing my little Sammy. My poor, sweet, innocent Sammy, who thought so little of himself, although he was worth so much.  
I tucked my head into the small nook between his head and shoulder, settled myself in carefully, so as not to disturb him, and whispered loving comments in his ear. I choked back my sobs, and I calmed him down, feeling his entire body relax as soon as I started talking. His reaction to my words made me think that he might have been awake, but his deep, heavy breathing indicated something completely different. He was in a deep slumber, and all I had to do was hold him close to me and talk, until I too fell asleep, placing small kisses along his neck until my eyes slipped shut. My Sammy. _My Sammy._


	6. With All My Heart

My joints cracked as I stretched out my long limbs, muscles still tender with bruising. I sat up, looking around with bleary eyes. I paused when I saw Dean sat at the end of the bed, head in hands, with a slight tremor running down his spine. 

“You were talking in your sleep last night,” he said, voice flat. I furrowed my brow in thought, trying to think of what I might've said to cause a reaction like this, but nothing was coming to mind except-

No. No, I couldn't have. Even in sleep, I couldn't have been that _stupid._  

“What… what did I say?” I asked quietly, fear creeping into my tone.

“You know what you said, Sammy,” he said sadly, standing up and striding over to the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his voice before returning to the room and sitting next to me on the bed. “You can't feel like that, Sam. You can't. I won't let you,” he spoke gently, calmly, but he was clearly just trying to hide his disgust.

I jumped to my feet, wincing, backing away into the opposite corner of the room, away from him, trying to get away from _Dean._ How could I have let it get to this point? 

“I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so, so sorry. Please,” my breathing escalated and my head whipped around, looking for the best escape route. “Please, don't be angry, Dean. I didn't do it on purpose, I know I'm a freak, I'm fucked in the head. But please don't tell Dad, don't tell him how stupid I am, how pathetic, and worthless, and useless, and crap and stupid and pathetic and stupid and fucked up I am,” my words were tumbling out of my mouth, all jumbled up, repeated, “I know I'm _pathetic, pathetic, pathetic, pathetic,_ and I'm not a Winche-“ Dean rushed over to me, kneeling at me feet.

“Don't say it,” he murmured, looking up at me forlornly.

“I'm not a Winchester…” I whispered, closing my eyes so as not to look into his, his beautiful green eyes, flecked with gold, brimming with tears.

He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me onto his lap, turning his body so that he could lean into the corner crevice of the room while he cradled and rocked me, shushing me softly as small sobs racked my scrawny body.

“Sammy, please, _I'm_  so sorry! I said all that the wrong way, you misunderstood, my gorgeous Sammy, _my_ Sammy! I meant that you can't think all of those negative things about yourself, I won't let you beat yourself up.” He buried his face in my shaggy mop of hair, inhaling deeply. “Sammy. _I love you too_ ,” he whispered, continuing to cradle me but now peppering kisses over my face, neck and jaw.

I looked up at him, a confused expression drawing itself onto my face. “What? You… What?”

“I love you. With all my heart, Sam, I love you, and I will never stop, not even on the day I die.  _I love you too!_ ” He laughed, his eyes dazzling me. I reached out, cupping his face in my hands, stroking his soft cheeks, and kissed him with everything I had. He adjusted my legs so that they were around his waist, picked me up, holding my thighs firmly, and carried me over to the bed. Sinking down on to it, he leant backwards until I was laying on his stomach, making out with him rather intensely, while he shamelessly groped my ass. His fingers were edging dangerously close to my hole, so I placed my hands on his chest, pushing myself up.

“Stop,” I uttered breathlessly.

“What? But why?” He replied in a similar way.

“Dean, I. I need to. To-to sh-show you s-s-something…” I began to hyperventilate, shaking uncontrollably, but I knew that I had to show him. I couldn't keep it bottled up inside myself forever.

Standing up, I unbuckled the jeans, allowing them to fall to the floor. Pulling off the hoody, I threw it off to the side, putting my hands behind my head and interlocking my fingers, a hopeless attempt at steadying myself.

“Oh, Sammy… Oh my god!” He rushed over to me, dropping to his knees and stroking my stomach, matching his finger tips up to the bruises on my hips. He kissed each individual reddened circle on my torso, moving onto my legs before scooping me up like a damsel in distress and carrying me to a counter top; my arms wrapped around his neck and I cried silently into his neck. Sitting me gently on the counter, he wiped away my tears with his thumbs. “Who did this to you, baby?” He questioned gently. I winced at the pet name, but made no comment in it, knowing my distaste for it would soon wear off if it was Dean calling me baby, rather than… I realised that I never knew his name.

“It was all me,” I murmured, looking down at the floor and avoiding his gaze.

“What about the bruises, Sammy? These clearly weren't you!”

“They sort of _were_ though. _I_  went out. _I_  went looking for some creepy old guy to fuck me until I passed out from pain and exhaustion. _I_  wanted it. Well, most of it…”

  
_**“What?!**_ He… He did things to you…?” Dean was stuttering, struggling to find the words.

“Yes. Except, he wouldn't let me go. And I was so scared, Dean, I was terrified, and all I wanted to do was to come back, but he wouldn't let me, and he made me do more things, but I didn't want to do those things, not like I thought I wanted to do the other things, but he made me, but I escaped, Dean, I got away.” I smiled sadly at him, tears pooling in my eyes and spilling over, rushing down my cheeks in such a hurry. I knew I was delirious with both grief and joy, that I wasn’t making any sense. It didn't matter though, because Dean was the only one who needed to understand, and I knew that he did. He'd always understood my jumbled way of speaking, from when I was a tiny little tot, right up to then. He always understood, and I knew he always would. 

“Well he'll never hurt you again. No one will. I won't let them,” he muttered possessively, nuzzling my messy, knotted hair. I needed a goddamn shower, but it didn't seem to matter to Dean. 

  
_But._ It seemed to have become a very important term. Every time I assumed something of my brother, he turned it around with a _but._ I loved him because of it, aside from it, with it, without it, _whatever!_ I loved him. And I think, _I think_ , that he might even have loved me back.

I wasn't paying attention, and only realised what was going on as he tucked me into the large bed, wrapping me in the soft sheets, then blanketing me with his warm body. 

“I love you, Sammy,” he whispered, and I could hear the smile in his voice.

“I love you too, De,” I whispered back.

Somehow, we managed to quietly say in unison “always and forever,” before laughing at how cheesy we were being and slowly dropping off to sleep again. Letting my lids fall closed for what was hopefully the last time that night, I let a small small pull at the corners of my mouth, my final thoughts of that time he'd taken me to the movies a year or two ago, when we'd heard the silly line in some sappy romantic scene. No chic flick moments for Dean though, that's what he always said.  __But maybe not. _But._  


 

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

 

I told Dean everything. Things got a lot better after that. Dad went off to do his thing, claiming that Dean had changed, that he wasn't a good hunter anymore. He never knew the source of Dean's distractions. I mean, does my father really need to see his youngest son in a pink lacy thong and 6 inch stilettos giving his other son a lap dance? Really? I didn't think so. Things were good, and I intended for them to stay that way for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I've loved writing for the boys thus far, and I'm looking forward to continuing. I definitely want to add more chapters, and I've been considering writing a series for this? Please say if there's anything you'd specifically like to see happen, even if it's the smallest detail to add to a bigger picture.  
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you wish to continue!


	7. Moments of Happiness

Sitting down on the vintage style bench seat, I sank into the worn leather, clearly old and used. I didn't mind, it was comfortable, and I was with Dean. I stared at his golden flecked eyes; I still couldn't wrap my head around the fact that I had managed to bag this perfect creation of god. It was flabbergasting to say the least. (Flabbergasting: never a word I thought I'd use, especially not in describing a relationship with Dean.)  
He slid into the seat opposite me, grabby hands instinctively reaching for mine; he grinned boyishly at me, winking when he saw the waitress approaching. I saw issues with the situation, but only one was truly problematic, the other just a slight annoyance: A) The staff need to be taught the correct etiquette, seeing as we'd only just shed our jackets before the waitress came sidling along with a bored look on her face. B) The wink. One small gesture, but it had me terrified. What the hell was my idiot brother going to do? But I couldn't suppress my smile anymore, it was strangely entertaining, and I was curious to know what he was planning, if slightly worried.  
“Hello, how I can I help y’all today?” She drawled in her thick Texan accent, eyes lighting up as she assessed Dean, clearly thinking about how to make her move. I felt a pang of jealousy deep in my gut, and it didn't matter that I knew my brother loved me (he'd had tell me enough times over the past two years), because this busty blonde bitch was flirting with him, with _my Dean. Mine._  
I cleared my throat and watched her frown slightly before dragging her eyes away from my supermodel boyfriend. I'd changed my mind; I wasn't going to let him take part in any kind of evil fuckery in public, no way.  
“I'll have a chocolate milkshake and a salad, please. Dean?” I raised my brows in question, and he shrugged. “He'll have a double bacon cheeseburger and a beer.” As she turned and walked away, shaking her ass quite obviously and looking over her shoulder, she winked at Dean and waved. What a whore.  
“You're welcome,” I muttered, pulling my hands away and looking down at my long fingers as I twisted them together. She'd made me nervous and insecure, more so than usual. She was so pretty. She was just his type…  
“Hey. Sammy. Look at me,” he curled a finger under my chin and pulled my head up to stare worriedly into his eyes. “Thank you for ordering for me, of course you knew exactly what I'd want.” He grinned cheekily, continuing. “Don't look so scared. Don't feel challenged by her, or by any other girl, or guy for that matter. You, Sammy, only you. You're all I want, all I need, always. Okay?”  
“Okay,” I whispered, interlocking our fingers once again. We went back to happily flirting for a while as we patiently awaited the arrival of our food. Well, _I_ was patient; Dean not so much.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

When the waitress reappeared with the plates and glasses, now with glossy red lips, a significantly shorter skirt, and much larger area of cleavage showing, Dean pulled away from me and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. His elbow knocked against the cutlery that had previously been thrown carelessly down by the slutty server and his fork clattered against the tile floor under the table.  
“Oh, sorry, I'll get that,” he said mischievously as he lowered himself off of his seat. He made eye contact with me just before he disappeared, sinking down and out of sight. Just as she placed my shake down in front of me and I reached forward, placing the straw in my mouth and quietly sucking on it, I felt a hand brush my knee. It brushed against me again, this time my inner thigh; it then stroked up and down, another hand joining it on my other leg, both occasionally hitting my dick. I felt it twitch a few times, and I gasped when I felt a light squeeze.  
“It's so dark under there, I just couldn't find it! I found something, but not my fork!” He punctuated his statement with a dramatic sigh while I glared him, my gaze filled half with annoyance and embarrassment, and I mean come on, we were in a public place, there was someone literally inches away! But mostly just with sexual frustration; he started, he got me going with a bit of excitement, there was now that sexual tension between us, and he then expected me to just eat my meal and wait until we got back home. How cruel!

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

We spent the rest of the evening laughing and joking, flirting like thirteen year olds in a school playground; he'd say something outrageous, then bite his lip, I'd blush and look down at my plate, fiddling with my straw. It was an endless cycle, but I couldn't honestly say I didn't enjoy it. I didn't think I'd ever stop loving these moments of joy and sheer bliss with Dean; for so long, I'd thought I'd never be happy at all. But I was.

 


	8. Loving Embraces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've felt like utter crapola recently, so please forgive the presumably constant spelling, punctuation and grammar mistakes. Sorry!  
> I feel as though I haven't written in forever, although in reality I think it's only been a month, if that, since I gave an update on how the boys are doing. Well!  
> I just thought I'd write a little sex scene for the boys, nothing special in regards to what they do in the bedroom usually, just a short display of how they treat each other in this situation.  
> I hope you like it!

Grasping my hand tightly, Dean fiddled with the key and lock. I stood behind him, barely able to keep myself from hopping from foot to foot in excitement. When he'd managed, at long last, to get the door open, he yanked me through and pushed me onto the bed, and I yelped in surprise, smiling coyly up at him as he rapidly unbuttoned his shirt and shucked off his jeans. One corner of his mouth lifted slightly as he eyes bore into me in a predatory gaze. He lowered himself onto the bed and crawled towards me agonisingly slowly. He licked his lips, looking me up and down as if he was deciding what he wanted to do to first. Despite the hungry, animalistic look in his eyes, I knew he would be gentle. Regardless of if I told him I wanted it harder, rougher, faster, he would always treat me as if I would shatter at the slightest wrong touch. He was always so loving.  
Having evidently come to a decision, he lunged towards me, kneeling between my legs. He reached over for a bottle of lube, squirted some into his hand, grasped his throbbing member, and lubed himself up before pressing his fingers against my hole. He never had to tell me lift my ass up, I was always so ready for him, so needy, so hungry.  
Having finished his task, he put his arms on either side of my head and leaned in closely, brushing his lips against mine and then whispering, “just tell me if you need to stop.”  
“I'm okay,” I reassured him as I always had to. Sometimes I would still become a bit shaken, but I was with Dean, and I was always safe, beyond safe.  
He grinned down at me, flashing those pearly whites and murmured, “ride me, gorgeous boy.” With that, he grasped my hips firmly, rolled onto his back, and pulled me against him, pushing at my thighs until I straddled him.  
He stroked the skin that flushed hot, bone jutting out as I still hadn't completely recovered. Neither of us were sure if I'd ever be completely better, but it didn't matter; I had his full support, and he'd always help me when I was struggling. His hands grazed my thighs, his calloused fingers pressing softly into the scarred tissue on my legs and running up to rest against chest; he stopped to feel my racing heartbeat before his palms fell against my hips once more, finally stopping to hold me tightly.  
His dazzling eyes sparkled in the light from the flickering motel lamps and I couldn't help but lean down and press a kiss against his soft, plump lips. Sitting back up, I nodded once and he pushed into me. I gasped and threw my head back, biting down hard on my bottom lip, almost drawing blood.  
I just sat there for a few seconds before I started to move, bouncing lightly on his cock then really going for it, grinding down against him hard, extracting little moans from him, growls creeping up and escaping, reverberating throughout the room. My hands pushed into his pectoral muscles, eyes squeezing closed as I continued my slow but steady rhythm. Every now and then I'd suck in a desperate breath, getting closer and closer to the edge.  
Staring down with eyes full of love and tenderness, I looked into his and saw only lust at this point, pupils blown so wide that there was hardly any colour visible; his teeth sank into his dusky pink lower lip and his eyes fluttered closed. His thrusts became shallow, and it was clear that we were at the same point. Just as I exploded, ecstasy taking over, I felt him pour his warmth into me, matched at the same time by him shouting my name. Coming down from my climax, I bent down and quieted his heaving breaths with a passionate kiss before lying down against his chest. He wrapped his heavily muscled arms around me, pressed a soft peck to the top of my head, and sighed, “Sammy.” We fell asleep in each others embrace, and I felt as though I was on top of the world.


	9. Returning to Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Jake, thank you so much for your prompt a while ago! I've decided that it's going to become a big thing for the boys in the next few chapters, and I just thought I'd credit you in the story ;) You're role will become apparent soon... *plots and laughs manically in the corner* Sorry, that got be bit creepy there...
> 
> I hope you like the story so far, thank you!

The motel door slammed shut and I looked up from my book to see a face splitting grin spread across my brothers face. I placed the worn paperback on the nightstand and fell into his arms when he bounded over to me. He twisted around to lean against the headboard and I settled between his knees, quite happy to close my eyes and listen to whatever had him in such a fabulous mood.  
“I was on the phone with this boy, Jake was his name. He'd been referee to me by an older guy who didn't feel he could do it, thought it would be too much for him. Sammy, this could be it, we could be back, fuck, I'm so pumped Sam!” He babbled on about his excitement, and I could hear his heart pounding away.  
“What are you on about?” I smiled against his torso, burrowing myself into any crevice I could find, relishing his warmth.  
“A hunt, Sammy. I've found us a case, we’re back in the game!” I froze, eyes popping open and hands bracing myself against the bed. He obviously felt my tension, because just as I moved to get up, he grabbed my arm.  
“Don't touch me,” I croaked out, “not right now, Dean, just, just let me take this in.” The second he released me from his grasp, I took the chance presented to me and bolted out of the door.   
I carried on running, not stopping when I heard him screaming my name out of the door. No matter how hard he pushed himself, we both knew he wouldn't catch up with me, I was a natural born runner. Tears stung behind my eyes and ran freely down my face, disappearing into the wind.   
When I'd finally stopped running and my calves were burning, I looked around and realised I'd arrived at a coastal area. I knew we were staying near the sea, but I thought our motel was miles away from the cliffs and pebbly beaches. Maybe we were miles away, I did feel as though I'd been running for an hour at least. I looked around, clutching my sides and gasping for air, shivering in the cold autumn breeze. Noticing that I was stood on a small cliff, I plonked myself down on the edge and dangled my legs over the vast expanse of water. Watching the black swirls of the water helped to calm me and I felt almost hypnotised by the movements and howling roars. I jumped up and jogged backwards, pulling off my jumper and t-shirt. It was twenty feet, give or take, from where I'd been sitting to the crashing waves. I shook my arms, took a deal breath, ran forwards and leapt off of the cliff face.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Scowling, I sauntered in and threw myself onto the bed, turning away from the bathroom where I could hear Dean moving around, probably nervously rearranging the small collection of toiletries that we had acquired. Upon hearing my surly entrance, he stormed out and began his lecture.  
“Where the _fuck_ have you been?! I've been worried sick, you fucking idiot, and after the couple of years we've had, you fuck off when you're in a pissy mood sometimes, but you've been gone four fucking hours, and the way you reacted, I was terrified, I thought you'd gone and fucking topped yourself! You just went and – why are you all wet?”  
“I jumped off of a fucking cliff,” I muttered sulkily.  
“Yeah, and I had tea with the Queen of freaking England!” He yelled at me, and I brought my legs up to my chest and curled an arm instinctively around them, trying to escape the racket.   
“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so reckless,” I whispered, shaking with fear now, silent tears soaking into the pillow. I pissed him off sometimes, of course I did, I was his little brother, but he never yelled at me, not like this.   
“Jesus Christ, you did, didn't you. You jumped off a cliff. You jumped off of a fucking cliff, you utter fucking _prick_ , Sam! What the fuck is wrong with you?! What, I'm excited about something _good_ happening for us, a chance we haven't had for years, and you decide to fucking kill yourself? Is that it, eh?” He was screaming at me, I could feel him stomping around the room as the terrifying sounds echoed off of the dingy, dirty walls.   
“I didn't want to kill myself. I didn't try to kill myself. I just… Jumped. I'm sorry.” I saw that he had his back to me, so I rolled off the creaking bed as quietly as I could and crept to the bathroom. Once I was inside, I slammed the door shut and twisted the lock before he could have had time to realise what I'd done. My silent sobs became very much audible, and I crashed my back against the door and slid down. I reached over, grabbed Dean's cheap, rusting disposable razor and held it against my wrist, tremors shaking through me causing the arm holding the tiny weapon to jerk and quiver.   
“I'm so sorry, Dean. I didn't mean to hurt you,” I called out. He was banging against the door that I leant against, yelling at me to let him in. Begging me. “I won't do it again.” With that, I twisted the blade so that it lay parallel to the vein, pushed down, and dragged the pain across my arm. I hissed at the pain, and cried as quietly as I could manage.   
After a very short time, my vision started to blur and Dean's words melded together. When he finally managed to break the door down, he found me slumped on the floor, looking up at him through slits as I mustered all my energy to stay awake and look at my beautiful, oh so beautiful, brother for as long as I could. I lost consciousness in his arms just as I heard him yelling for an ambulance into his phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus Dean, and there we all were thinking you were getting good that this whole calm, patient, observational thing. Clearly not. *tut*  
> Hopefully he'll be nicer to poor little Sammy from now on, he's very fragile!


End file.
